Dear Me, I Made It.🫶🏽

I am a willow tree. Not the strongest tree in the forest, maybe, but one that knows how to bend when the wind gets too strong. I’ve always liked that about willows. They don’t fight every storm. They bend, they sway, and somehow, they keep standing. I think I understand them a little better now. Because 17 was hard. And I don’t mean the kind of hard you get over by sleeping well or having a good day. I mean the kind that follows you everywhere. The kind where you go to school, talk to people, laugh at jokes, and still feel like something inside you isn’t okay. I was depressed, lonely, and tired in ways I didn’t know how to explain. There were nights I struggled to get through, and moments I didn’t think I’d look back on with any kind of gratitude. There was pressure from home, expectations I couldn’t always meet, and the feeling that I was constantly disappointing someone. My faith wasn’t always as strong as I wanted it to be. Love was confusing. I was still figuring myself out, and sometimes, I didn’t even like the person I was becoming. I won’t pretend I handled everything well. I didn’t. But I made it through 17. And honestly, that means something to me. Now I’m 18, and for once, I want to celebrate myself. Not because I’ve figured everything out. I haven’t. Not because I’m suddenly healed or because turning 18 magically fixed the things I’ve struggled with. But because I’m still here, and I think the girl I was last year deserves to hear that I’m proud of her. Dear me, I’m proud of you. I’m proud of you for getting up on the days you wanted to stay in bed. For trying again after days when you felt like you were getting nowhere. For making it through things you couldn’t tell anyone about. For holding on, even when you weren’t sure what you were holding on for. You didn’t always feel strong. Sometimes, you were just trying to get through the day. And that’s okay, too. Look at you now. You’re 18. You’re a veterinary medicine student, about to start a new chapter of your life. You’re leaving home, and although you know this is something you’ve wanted, that doesn’t make it easy. It’s strange how you can want to leave somewhere and still feel sad about leaving it. You can want your independence and still miss the familiar things. You can know that a new beginning is good for you and still be scared of what comes with it. I think I’m learning that two things can be true at once. I can be grateful for the opportunity to start again and still grieve the things I wish had been different. I can love my family and still need space to become my own person. I can be excited about university and still have no idea what I’m doing half the time. And maybe that’s what growing up looks like. Not having all the answers, but finally having the chance to find some of them for yourself. There’s so much I want to experience. I want to enjoy my university years. I want to make friends, learn new things, discover who I am outside the life I’ve always known, and become someone I’m genuinely proud of. I want to become a good veterinarian. I want to care for animals, build a life I love, and give myself the chance to do things I once only imagined. I also want to learn how to be kinder to myself. To stop feeling like I have to earn rest. To stop treating every mistake like proof that I’m not good enough. To stop looking at other people and wondering why becoming myself seems to take so much work. I’m still figuring out my identity, my faith, my relationships, and the kind of woman I want to be. I don’t have to rush any of it. I’m allowed to change my mind. I’m allowed to outgrow things. I’m allowed to become someone my younger self couldn’t have imagined. And I’m allowed to do all of this without hating the person I used to be. Because that girl was trying. Even when she got things wrong, she was trying. Even when she felt lost, she was trying. Even when she couldn’t see a future she was excited about, she kept going. So, thank you, 17-year-old me. I’m sorry for the times I was so hard on you. I’m sorry I spent so much time wishing you were different instead of trying to understand what you were going through. You deserved more patience than I gave you. You deserved softness, too. And I hope that, as I grow older, I learn to give myself those things. I still think of myself as a willow tree. Not because I never break down, or because I can survive absolutely anything. But because I’ve learned that being strong doesn’t mean pretending things don’t hurt. Sometimes, it means admitting that they do and allowing yourself to keep growing anyway. So here’s to 18. To the girl I’m leaving behind and the woman I’m slowly becoming. To new friendships, new experiences, better days, difficult lessons, and all the little things I haven’t even thought to dream about yet. I hope I give myself room to live this year. Really live. I hope I laugh more. I hope I take pictures, make memories, and allow myself to enjoy things without worrying about what comes next. I hope I become more comfortable in my own skin. And on the days when life gets difficult again, I hope I remember that one bad day doesn’t mean I’ve lost all the progress I’ve made. I am not starting this year as a perfect person. I’m starting it as myself. A little older. A little more aware. Still learning. Still healing. Still hopeful. And, most importantly, still here. Dear me, I love you. I’m learning how to mean it. And even though my 18th birthday has come and gone, I think this is a letter I needed to write. Not just to celebrate getting older, but to honour the girl who made it this far. I’m still here. And I’m proud of that.

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